


save my soul

by cleveradjective



Series: SCHOOLTIME CLUSTERFUCK [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Cheesy, Child Abuse, Gay Dave, Illness?, Love, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Karkat, Triggers, bad choices, sadStuck-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2885666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleveradjective/pseuds/cleveradjective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's getting more and more difficult to breathe, and you're coughing and your chest is aching because your binder keeps pressing into it. You haven't slept in three whole days and you just don't know what you're supposed to do anymore because your father just got done yelling at you again because you're a disgrace to the family and he never wants to see your face again. You know that he'll take it all back when he's sober, but he'll go ahead and say it again tomorrow night and the night after that and the night after that and you're crying now. You hate yourself just a little bit more, because you're falling apart at the seams and there's no one to put you back together and you just.</p><p>You want to save yourself, but you aren't sure if you're strong enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hurtful hands or helping hands

**Author's Note:**

> Okay here! This will be probably really sad but it will be happy later i promise. It's part of the 'SCHOOLTIME CLUSTERFUCK' series, sort of a background for 'How did we end up as Leaders?'s Karkat. Enjoy!

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you aren't sure how things were able to get this bad. 

You are a good kid. You work hard in school, get good grades, hell, you're even in ASB. You're great to so many people, and a leader, none-the-less. People actually look up to you because, hell, you're the vice president of the damn thing, and you get respect. Maybe not always, and maybe not by everybody, but you have got it good.

Only at school, though, really.

Kankri is the only one who really knows about anything, besides your father, but you've asked him not to tell anyone or do anything, because this is something you need to fix on your own. It's something that you need to deal with because every blow to your ego, every word spat out is true. Your father used to love you, you know that, but he doesn't anymore. He tries to act like it, tries to get on your good side, but he gets totally tossed almost every night and he screams at you, just like how he's screaming at you right now. 

It's getting more and more difficult to breathe, and you're coughing and your chest is aching because your binder keeps pressing into it. You haven't slept in three whole days and you just don't know what you're supposed to do anymore because your father just got done yelling at you again because you're a disgrace to the family and he never wants to see your face again. You know that he'll take it all back when he's sober, but he'll go ahead and say it again tomorrow night and the night after that and the night after that and you're crying now. You hate yourself just a little bit more, because you're falling apart at the seams and there's no one to put you back together and you just.

You want to save yourself, but you aren't sure if you're strong enough.  You aren't sure if you'll ever be able to escape him, his words, the speckled bruises left on your body and the scar on your shoulder from when he broke his beer bottle and shoved you against a wall, stabbing the damned thing into you. You aren't ever going to get his words out of your head, the words that you desperately try to ignore on a daily basis because if you don't you  _can't breathe, it hurts to breathe you just can't -_

You're coughing still, your throat raw from the fist that was thrown into it, and you feel like you're going to vomit. You don't, of course, because you're in your room, holed up with the door locked because your dad is pounding on the door, making it rattle in it's frame, and you're stuffing your feet back into your shoes and pulling on your hoodie, because you can't stay here much longer without your door breaking in.

So you grab your school bag, stuff some clothes into it, and climb out the window. 

it takes you a while to scramble off of the roof (since your room is on the second story), but you land on the ground with a grunt. The sting of the winter air slaps you in the face, and you sigh as you get up. You check your watch -- 2:03 AM, and you have no where to sleep. No where to go, really. You doubt that Kankri is asleep, with all that racket, but you aren't going to drag him into this. You aren't going to pull him down with you. 

So you walk away. You walk to the park, surrounded by tall apartment complexes and street lights, and you sit on a bench. You sit and look up, ginger hair falling into your eyes. You brush it away, your hazel orbs staring at the sky, trying to find stars that aren't hidden by the artificial lights. You only find a few, but it doesn't bother you. You breathe in the cold air, letting out another cough. In your head, you remind yourself that you are fine. 

(You can't hear the banging on your door here, it's quiet, everything is so serene and beautiful and he isn't there, you're fine).

It's quiet, but if you listen, you can hear the traffic rushing past on the main street, farther away. You can hear frogs croaking and crickets chirping, something that you'll never get used to, and you are okay. 

That is, until, you bring your head back down and start looking around at the apartments, because there's someone staring out their window on the fifth story, and they're staring right at you. You feel uncomfortable in your own skin because they're just staring at you, and oh. Oh, because you realize that they're wearing obnoxious aviators and that they have white-blonde hair and that they are Dave Strider. You scowl in his direction, and he smirks before closing his blinds. You sigh, closing your eyes and rubbing the bridge of your nose before lying down on the bench and using your backpack as a pillow. You're glad that Dave can't see you anymore, because when you put your hands over your eyes, you realize that your tears are still there, and that just makes you cry even more. 

It's a few minutes before you sit up and see someone walking towards you. It's Strider, of course, and you hurry to rub your face with the sleeve of your hoodie before scowling at him again. He's still smirking, dressed in Spiderman pajama pants and a red hoodie, a twin to your black one, and bunny slippers on his feet. He doesn't sit down -- he just stands there in front of you, looking down at you, and in that moment you hate him more than you ever have before.

"Whatch'ya doin' here, Kit-Kat?" he asks, a lazy grin on his face, and god help you if you don't want to knock it right off in an instant because  _fuck this guy._ You glare at him before rolling your eyes, crossing your arms with a 'hmph'.

"That's none of your fucking business, asshole," you reply, your throat still wrecked from all that crying and coughing. Speaking of that, you're coughing again, because your throat fucking hurts to use and speaking just irritates it more. In a second, you see his smirk fall, and you silently cheer in victory because he doesn't look like as much of an asshole now.

The blonde looks thoughtful for a moment before he speaks. "Well, not only do you look like shit, but you sound like shit. What's up with your face?"

Your hand flies to your face, where a speckled bruise has formed from where your father hit you earlier tonight. There's one on your eye, too, and you can feel them both stinging. You prod the one on your cheek with a wince, scowling as you reply. "Again, none of your business, but it was just an unpleasant accident."

This isn't the first time that someone at school has seen you with a busted face (or sprained ankle, from the time you got pushed down the stairs). You would have figured that everyone would have been used to it by now, but apparently Strider thinks you're in danger (which, technically, you are, but whatever). He shouldn't care, you think, because he's an asshole. 

"You sure, man?" he asks, and there's genuine concern in his voice. You really should be touched, but you're a heartless bastard that doesn't want anything to do with sincerity. "It looks like somebody socked you in the face, twice."

It was three times, actually, you think bitterly.

And that you have said bitterly, apparently, because he's staring at you with a shocked look on his face, 

"I'm really tired because I haven't slept in more than seventy-two hours and I'm just. So tired, so now you're staring still and I still can't breathe and oh god, my mouth is still running and I need to lay down." So you do, and this time, Strider sits with you. "I shouldn't have left my house, but fuck, I couldn't..."

And you, Karkat Vantas, break down in tears in front of the biggest asshole you know because you're so fucking exhausted and your father is an abusive asshole who hits you because you're transgender.

* * *

 

Your name is Dave Strider, and you do not know what's going on.

You're sitting on a bench with your buddy, Karkat, and he's bawling his eyes you with his head on your lap, and all that you can do is stroke his hair and let him cry it out. When you had looked up from your computer earlier, out the window, you had noticed him on the bench. You had recognized him, thankfully, from that far away. When you went outside, it was just going to be to ask him if he wanted to come in or something, because it looked like he was going to spend the night there, with his backpack.

When you were about to leave the apartment, Bro had asked you what was up.

"Nothing, really," you had replied. "A friend of mine is out on a bench in the park and I was gonna ask him if he wanted to stay over or some shit. That cool?"

He replied with a nod, and well. Here you are, with a beat-up friend that you're pretty sure hates you, crying and coughing and just fucking miserable in your lap. After he's done, he sits up, wiping his face and mumbling curses under his breath.

"Fuck. Sorry. I just sort of broke down there, didn't I? That was really fucking gross, sorry." His voice is so hoarse that you can guess where the third punch was, and he places his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes and sighing softly. He runs his fingers through his ginger hair, pale face spotted with yellow-ish bruises. Three times, you think. You wonder how he got them.

"It's chill, man," you reply a heartbeat later. "I actually came down here because you looked fucking freezing and I was gonna invite you inside. You down?" Your eyes flicker in his direction, but he can't see that. You're watching, gauging his reaction, because you never really know with Vantas. You're surprised when he shrugs, and says 'sure'.

You grin again, happily and genuine, and you take his hand. "A'ight. Time to go to Casa de Strider then, huh?" 

You begin to lead him inside, grabbing his backpack. He grudgingly follows, mumbling and yawning about how you're probably going to murder him and cut off all his limbs to store in plastic zip-lock bags or something. That makes you chuckle a bit, because he's back to joking like himself again, and you know that his mood has lifted. He complains as you walk up the stairs, because the elevator is broke a shit and you ain't going in there. 

When the two of you reach the door, it's already unlocked. You open it, revealing Bro wearing boxers and eating from a tub of ice cream on the couch. There are smuppets everywhere, that you frown at, before noticing that Karkat is sort of just standing there with a confused look on his face, before stating, roughly: "What the fuck are those things?"

You shudder, leading him through the living room. Bro doesn't look up from his My Little Pony. "Those are smuppets, and you may not want to touch them because they're pretty gross and they may have unknown substances on them that I am not responsible for." When you look back into the room, Bro is giving you two thumbs up and makes a winking motion. You facepalm and bring Karkat into your room. 

He's still a bit shaken up from outside, but you don't blame him. He doesn't question anything else, though, just lays on your bed. He lets out a groan, surprising you. "Holy shit, why does your bed have to be so much more comfortable than mine? I am so fucking jealous, Strider, you don't even know," he rambles. Then, he steals your blankets, obviously still tired, and then...

He passes out. Right then and there. Amazing. You turn off the lights with a sigh, lying down and setting your alarm before taking off your shades and closing your eyes. 

Your name is Dave Strider, and this has been a strange night. You'll probably ask Karkat why he didn't sleep at his place tomorrow morning, but, for now, all you need is to fall into the comfortable embrace of sleep. 

 


	2. Feels like Asphyxiating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally updating!! pov of karkat for this one only B)

Waking up is painful, to say the least.

You, of course, have a nightmare about pain and one-too-many broken bones, and cruel laughter and shouts filling your ears, so you wake up with a strangled gasp as you delicately slam off of the bed and onto the floor, violently hitting your head on the nightstand during your tumble. 

You start spluttering violent expletives, only barely registering the fact that you are not at home and that there's an alarm blaring shitty pop music on the most popular radio station in town. You do, very clearly and obviously, realize that all that's coming out of your mouth are wheezy vowels that sound vaguely like words.

"Vantas...?" You hear someone start, only just coherent enough to make out. The voice sounds sleepy, just-woken-up, and obviously owned by a completely obnoxious asshole. You look up, glaring at the bleary-looking face gazing down at you. Or, that you guess is gazing down at you, because he's still wearing those  _stupid fucking shades oh my god --_

You try to reply with something snarky, but when all that comes out is a jumble of 'hha ah hhua', you're unfortunately reminded of the fact the you  _can't fucking talk_. Not to mention the fact that your face is throbbing from the bruises you earned last night. You scowl, waving your hand vaguely at your throat.

"Oh..." Strider starts, before you hear him start to giggle. "Oh, oh my god, this is hilarious, you're so fuckin' shouty and now you  _can't_ be, oh my god, the irony," he laughs out, almost breathlessly. 

You scowl, but soon his laughter dies out, and he offers you a hand to get up. "Come on, karkrab, let's get some shitty cereal and go to school."

School, he says, and as soon as you get up you freeze. You had forgotten about that, you'd forgotten that it was a Monday night last night. You expressively mouth the word 'FUCK', and point at your face as it morphs with worry. You haven't seen it yet, but you bet that half of it's turned purple by now. 

His eyes (you can just barely see them from under his shades because you're so close) flicker to the side as he stares at the splotchy purple-yellow on your face, and a frown tugs at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it looks pretty bad. Where'd you get it anyway? I mean, Kanaya can probs cover it if we get to school, unless you don't feel well enough, but your brother'd be a pain at the meeting if you weren't there. Did he know you weren't gonna go back to your house for the night?"

When he asks where it's from, your teeth tug worriedly at your lip, but you shake your head. Then, you shrug, and stand up all the way, before making a 'writing' gesture.

Strider stares dumbly for a moment, before he lets out an 'oh!' and stumbles out of his bed, grabbing a notebook and a pen from off of his turntables (turntables, how obnoxious) and handing them to you. You nod once, before uncapping the writing implement and scribbling on the paper.

After a minute or so, you shove the paper at him, it reading:

YEAH, YOU'RE RIGHT, HE'S STILL PROBABLY FREAKING OUT. IT DOESN'T MATTER WHERE I FUCKING GOT IT, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP. I'LL GO TO SCHOOL, YOU PUTRID AND EXEMPLARY VISUAL OF A PIECE OF SHIT.

Strider lets out a chuckle as he reads, an insufferable smirk spreading across his face. "Hella. I'll give you the bathroom first while I make us some breakfast, 'kay?"

You nod, quickly turning around and hurrying out of the room. You, thankfully, hear him call 'the door right outside of this one!', so you get the right room. 

When you turn on the light, your face in the mirror looks completely awful.

Your right eye and cheek are a dark purple, swelling almost violently, and from what you can see, the whites of your right eye are bloodshot. There's a bit of blood that looks like it dried after coming out of your mouth, were you remember biting on accident when  _he_ punched you. There's an even darker bruise in the center of your neck, right on your throat. 

You can't breathe. It looks so much worse than you thought, than you felt. Sure, you couldn't really _feel_ some of it, but you'd felt enough to think it wasn't that bad. But you look bad. You look really terrible, and you're hyperventilating as you stare at your mangled face and neck. It feels like you're asphyxiating, but there's nothing stopping you from breathing except for panic. You bring your hands up, rubbing furiously at the bruising, as if it was just make-up or paints.

It doesn't come off, and you didn't expect it to. It just hurts more, and you have to slam your eyes closed and violently shake your head to get yourself to stop.

Your chest feels constricted for obvious reasons, but you don't even try to fix that. Instead, you slowly open your eyes again, meeting your own stare in the glass. You breathe in, slowly, and turn on the water.

It takes a few minutes of desperately scrubbing the grime off your face and a bit of stolen mouthwash (you doubt Strider would mind) before you feel clean enough to exit the small room. So, you do, moving out to the living from, where

there's a person lying face-down on the couch in only boxers.

You scramble backwards, a blush spreading across your face, because that's  _definitely_ not a Strider you know, even though he has the blonde for it. A laugh comes from your right, where you see Dave rifling through a fridge (and weapons looking like they just fell out of it). 

"Dude, it's just Bro, chill. We gotta catch the bus in a bit, anyways, so hurry up," he laughs. You scowl, grabbing your bag from next to the door, and Strider moves up next to you. "Think fast."

And then a cheese stick and a granola bar hit you in the face, and Strider just grins before exiting though the front door.

* * *

 

The bus ride, you admit, is alright. Not too bad. 

What is bad is the inhuman screech Kankri lets out when he sees you exit the bus behind Strider.

"KARKAT!" He yells out, rather shrilly. You cringe, wanting to cover your ears (not only because of how grating his voice is). "Oh, Karkat, I was so worried!" he says, pulling you along with him to the infirmary. Dave is following quickly behind, slightly bemused, until Kankri continues to speak. 

"I'm so sorry, Karkat, I didn't know where you were, and I didn't know how badly you were hurt, and I just --! Of all the things that could have happened, this! Your face, Karkat, it looks bludgeoned! Now, I'm not particular for violence, even in retaliation, so I'm glad you stepped out when you did, it was awful really, but this is going too far! We need to tell the authorities soon, Karkat, it isn't good for your health."

By this time, you're all in a pretty secluded hall, so you yank your arm away from your brother. 

"Christ, Kankri, let go of me!" You shout hoarsely (more of a barely audible wheeze), interrupting his rambles. "I'm alright, okay? I hopped out the window and ran down to fuck-knows-where, and Strider came out of his apartment and invited me in. I'm alright, okay? This," you say, gesturing to your face, "This'll heal in no time, alright? I --"

You start violently coughing from the exertion of your vocal chords, bending over and putting a hand over your mouth. You try to clear your throat a few times, but you can't make it stop until half a minute later, and you can barely breathe. You gasp in breath after breath, eyes (well eye, because the other one is swelled closed) wide open in shock as they gaze on the ground. 

"Karkat," you hear your brother say as he reaches a hand out towards you, but you push it away shaking your head.

"Health room," you rasp, and both Dave and Kankri nod their heads before helping you stand straight and walk to the office.

You hate not being able to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! It's almost the end of the school year, so I should be updating a bit more.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and kudos, please!


End file.
